The Less Familiar One
by Individually Packaged
Summary: It was a mistake really. A mistake to believe that Bakura could be replaced. Angstshipping/Thiefshipping Oneshot


**A/N:** So although this is technically Angstshipping, Thiefshipping paves the way for it. Beta-ed by the lovely ChaosRocket. :)

**Disclaimer:** Yu-Gi-Oh isn't mine.

* * *

Marik knocks at the door in three quick thumps.

He waits impatiently, nervously, as the rain comes down in sheets and drips over his face. He fiddles with the motorcycle keys in his coat pocket as his heart races.

The door, made of extensively polished red oak, seems to stare at him stoically, standing before him sturdily. Marik doesn't feel sturdy at all. He feels drowned. He's not sure what he expects of this visit, exactly, but hopes perhaps for a gulp of air.

The door opens.

"Marik?" the boy asks, sounding distinctly surprised and curious.

Marik's breath catches, and he finds himself staring at brown eyes. White hair. Long, long white hair and alabaster skin. It has been so long—far too long since he has last seen these features. Momentarily, Marik is simply struck by the resemblance.

"Ryou," he finally says.

The word doesn't match—doesn't quite describe—these features. Marik isn't used to the name, and rather chokes on it.

The boy smiles brightly. "It's great to see you, Marik. Please, come in, don't stand out in the rain!"

Marik frowns upon hearing the kind words, but quickly crosses the threshold and enters Ryou's warm household. He shakes his hair a bit, to get the rain out.

"Here, let me take your coat," Ryou offers, and removes the coat from Marik's shoulders in an instant. "You shouldn't ride your bike out in the rain—you'll catch a cold that way. I'll make you some tea to warm you up."

Marik stands a bit shell-shocked at Ryou's torrent of well-meaning words. He's hardly ever spoken with Ryou before now, yet here he is, acting as if they're old friends. He doesn't even question Marik's visit. Somehow, that doesn't make Marik feel better; Ryou's words and actions stand in complete contrast with what Marik expects.

"Earl Grey or Lady Londonderry?" Ryou asks as he fumbles through his kitchen cupboards.

It takes Marik a moment to realize he's asking about tea. Marik's never even heard of the second option, so he chooses the more familiar one.

"Earl Grey."

"Hmm," Ryou digs out two boxes of packaged tea bags. "I rather like Lady Londonderry, but I suppose that's because I've gotten tired of the old favorite."

As Ryou prepares two cups of tea, Marik stands just near the kitchen door and takes in the sight of the cramped apartment. Everything is neat and ordered. The sugar bowl is labeled _Sugar_ and the cookie jar on top of the fridge is labeled _Cookies_. A large ceramic bowl sits in the middle of the dining table, containing several peaches, apples, plums, and figs. The beige tablecloth features a pattern of round, orange pumpkins, whose vines link into a cluster of supple, purple grapes.

Marik feels irritated as he takes in the homeliness. It looks far too comfortable, and the colors far too gentle. Marik craves disorder. He craves spontaneity and impulse, but finds none of that in this welcoming kitchen.

Then Marik examines Ryou. The boy is wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a fleece pullover, and pads across the wooden oak floor with bare feet. His every movement reminds Marik of how intimate he'd been with this boy. Or rather, with his body.

He knows every line and every curve of it. He knows exactly how to make Ryou lean into his touch, arch his back and buck his hips and moan breathlessly. He knows that biting the crook of his shoulder would make him wild with desire. It would make him claw down Marik's back and grab his hips, and pant, as he goes over the edge.

But Ryou wouldn't know any of these things. It wasn't Ryou, after all, with whom Marik had experienced them.

"Tea's ready," Ryou announces, and places two steaming cups on the dining table.

He glances at Marik, who's still standing near the door, and frowns. "Please, sit down, Marik. I want you to feel at home."

The words irritate Marik again. He pulls a straight-back chair from the table, and it scrapes against the wood, creating a jarring sound in the quiet apartment.

Ryou opens the sugar bowl. "How many cubes of sugar?"

"Three."

Ryou obliges and mixes the cubes in Marik's cup with a teaspoon. Then, when both his and Marik's cups are fully prepared, Ryou puts his tea aside to cool and his gaze becomes serious.

"To what do I owe your visit, Marik?"

At this point, Marik hesitates. He hasn't thought far past visiting Ryou's apartment while he's in Japan. In fact, he hasn't thought far past seeing—for the first time in several months—Ryou's haunting characteristics. The brown eyes and white hair. The elements that wouldn't leave Marik's dreams, that had, in fact, defined his very existence since the Battle City tournament.

"I wanted to know if he's really gone."

The words suffocate him as they roll out of his mouth. It's an effort, a drowning man's cry, to wrench them out and throw the helpless plea to Ryou.

Ryou's ever-present smile fades. His eyes proffer the struggle of living between two men—one gone and one grieving. He opens his mouth, but hesitates, and after several moments, simply looks at Marik piteously and nods.

Marik's jaw clenches. He despises Ryou's pity and curses his decision to come here. After all, he already knew the answer.

"I see. Thank you, then. I just needed it confirmed."

Marik makes as though to rise, but Ryou leans across the table and reaches out quickly to place his hand on Marik's.

"Please, don't leave yet." Ryou's eyes are inexplicably bright. "You've just walked in the door, and I think we should discuss this. For both our sakes."

It's Ryou's look alone that stops Marik. Those eyes are so stunningly brown that Marik drowns in them; in memories of them belonging to someone else.

He sits back down, and Ryou looks relieved. But he sobers up once he remembers their conversation.

"Yes. He's… he's truly gone," Ryou finally says. "I waited for him to return after the incident in Egypt, when he brought the Pharaoh to the past. I waited for months. And when he didn't return, I went to the fallen tomb and looked for the Ring." He pauses, and turns pink. "I don't know why I went looking, honestly. I just felt—strange. It was odd knowing that he was really gone."

Marik slowly swirls his tea with the spoon, and glances into the dark liquid. He doesn't want to meet Ryou's eyes, because the boy would only see the haunted look on his face.

"You went looking for him too, didn't you?" Ryou asks softly, shrewdly.

Marik's eyes harden but his silence affirms that yes, he'd gone looking. And he'd found nothing. Not a scrap of the Ring, not a single rumor of what had happened to the spirit. He waited too, waited for a voice to stretch the darkness and tell him that he still existed, somewhere. He waited for the familiar laugh and the familiar sarcasm. But the silence engulfed him. Overpowered him until he was haunting himself.

Cautiously, Ryou reaches across the table again and places his hand on Marik's.

"I know it's hard," he says quietly. "He had an impressive presence, incredible will and determination. He's unforgettable. I know it'll take a while to—"

"No," Marik interrupts angrily, and jerks his hand from beneath Ryou's.

It's too much to take in suddenly, and he suffocates with hatred, and anger, and regret. It feels as though an animal is rattling around, caged, in his chest, ready to spring.

"It won't simply take a while. And saying that it's _hard_ is just a gross understatement."

Ryou looks hurt. He's clearly only trying to help. But Marik, who has spoken so few words before now, continues, relentless as a downpour. His feelings, from months of unrest, spill in a torrent.

"You wouldn't know—you _couldn't_ know—what his existence meant to me. You, who were just a host and body for him to use, hid as the _other_, inconsequential Bakurawhile he lived." Marik's eyes blaze, his throat constricts with hatred, and he grips his tea cup tensely. "So don't tell me you know. You don't know a single fucking thing."

Marik wants to say more. He wants to tell Ryou how sorry he is, utterly sorry, that Ryou lives while the spirit is dead. How tragic it is that the more helpless and pathetic of the two now resides, alone, in Ryou's body. It's wretched. Marik could go on and on, drenching Ryou with cruel and despicable words that he knows, somewhere in his more sensible mind, are completely undeserved.

Ryou looks stunned. He stares at Marik with wide, wide brown eyes, but makes no effort to reply.

_Get mad,_ Marik thinks.

He wants to see Ryou lose his cool and for his eyes to narrow into cold, hard steel. He wants Ryou's combed white hair to rise, stand on end, and give him the half-crazed look Marik is so accustomed to. He wants the innocent look gone. He wants him blisteringly mad and pissed beyond reason.

It's the only way Marik will have him. Crazy, pissed, and raw.

Because it's the only way he's had him before. And this pathetically kind creature pales in comparison to the delightfully rough person he used to be.

But Ryou does none of these things.

Instead, he looks down into his tea cup, crestfallen, and avoids Marik's angry eyes.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Marik," he says so quietly that Marik almost doesn't hear him. "But I did know him. I knew you both, and I only wanted to sympathize."

This infuriates Marik, who immediately stands from the dining table. He stands so quickly that the straight-back chair is nearly overturned. And despite himself, he's shaking. He's shaking with the uncontrollable desire to do something rash, because Ryou looks far too composed and reasonable.

"That's not what I wanted to hear either," he says coldly.

Ryou glances up at him, his eyes very bright. "Then what do you want to hear? That he's not really gone? That there's some inexplicable, supernatural way he could return? It can't happen. It _won't_ happen."

At this point, Marik is sick of listening. He turns on his heel and strides out of the kitchen, shaking with something more than anger. Fear, perhaps. Helplessness. He steps over the threshold and slams the door behind himself.

It was a mistake, really.

A mistake to believe that Bakura could be replaced.

* * *

Marik pushes the arms of the chest press machine upward. He digs his hands into the rubber grips and presses forcefully, huffing slightly from the effort.

He's been exercising quite a bit since—_it_—happened. He doesn't refer to the incident by word or by name because it reminds him too much of memories before the incident. Memories that flooded back the moment Marik glimpsed Ryou's features.

At the thought, Marik growls and pushes the metal arms vehemently. Sweat moves down his brow as he concentrates on straining his muscles.

He had gone to Ryou by chance, simply because he and Ishizu were currently staying in Japan for several weeks, and it had seemed appropriate to visit old friends. Although, he and Ryou aren't friends, and never had been. And despite this visit having been an unplanned one, he'd been longing to see Bakura's face again. Or, some form of it at least.

Marik's past several months have been mechanical. He returned to Egypt to live with his siblings. He went about his life as though nothing had happened.

But nonchalance was a difficult act to pretend.

His dreams became increasingly plagued. He dreamed of the experiences he'd shared with Bakura; of the spirit pushing Marik against the wall and unbuckling his pants; of Marik digging his fingers into Bakura's hair and arching into him and saying unintelligible Egyptian words as he moaned.

Their first kiss was sudden.

Bakura had been teasing him about his foolish plans to defeat Yugi, and Marik had growled and stepped up to Bakura and pointed the Rod at him threateningly. But Bakura had simply smirked and caught Marik's arm, and pulled him closer.

And honestly, Marik can't remember past that. All he remembers is lips on his mouth and the sound of his Rod clattering to the ground. The tearing noise of his shirt being ripped off and the feel of wet bites on his collarbone.

When he'd had sex with Bakura, there was one thing that Marik never allowed. And that was knifeplay.

It was a turn-off, somehow, because Marik hated pain. He'd hated it from the moment his father took a knife to his back and carved the very innocence and youth out of it. His worst enemy—his yami—had risen from this pain and nearly destroyed Marik, therefore Marik detested it.

But Bakura didn't mind Marik's aversion, because Marik allowed most other joys. Being with Bakura was a whirlwind. It was an experience that lacked definition, even the concept of time. Minutes and hours passed by without either noticing, when they had simply lain in bed and fucked and talked.

"I'll never forget you," Marik once told him, and it was the closest thing to _I love you_ that he'd ever said, because with Bakura, it was pointless being romantic.

Bakura simply smiled at hearing this—smiled, Marik had noted, not smirked—then he leaned over and pushed Marik back onto the bedspread.

These memories have plagued Marik for months. He's taken to exercising in his spare time, to avoid errant thoughts. But even now, as he works out in the hotel gym, the thoughts don't leave him. They haunt him, taunt him with unrealistic desires, and make him push the chest press that much harder.

* * *

Marik showers and leaves the gym, ready to head back to his hotel room, when he sees a familiar shock of white hair in the hotel lobby.

"Ryou?" Marik nears the boy, who seems to be asking the staff at the counter a question.

The boy turns and upon seeing Marik, brightens. Then, possibly remembering Marik's treatment of him the other day, his smile falters.

"I need to talk to you," Ryou says quietly, his gaze wide and urgent.

Marik hesitates, because he now knows that going to Ryou was a mistake, and he doesn't want to get Ryou any more involved in his problems than he already has. But his eyes are intent and compelling. And really, Marik owes Ryou at least this much after his harsh words.

So Marik simply nods, and strides toward the elevators, while Ryou follows. They reach Marik's floor without exchanging any words and swiftly, Marik opens the door to his room with a swipe card.

Though he shares the room with Ishizu, she seems to be away on business for the Domino City museum at the moment.

"How did you find out where I'm staying?" Marik asks, breaking the silence, as he steps into the room. It's a thinly furnished room, with the bare necessities of two beds, nightstands, an armoire, and a TV.

Ryou follows tentatively. "I contacted Ishizu, and she told me."

Marik says nothing, gathering that Ishizu probably has no idea that he and Ryou are at odds. She's been complaining the past few days that all he does is sit at the hotel and brood, and that he really should get out while they're in Japan.

For a moment, Marik doesn't know what to say, as both he and Ryou simply stand a few feet from one another, Ryou looking at Marik and the latter looking away.

Finally, Marik glances at Ryou, and momentarily regrets it, because the brown eyes drown him again.

"Look, Ryou. Forget what I said the other day. It was stupid and cruel of me, and I'm sorry."

Ryou simply looks at him steadily.

"I shouldn't have shown up on your doorstep as upset and angry as I was. I shouldn't have bothered asking questions that I already knew the answer to."

Marik falters, because Ryou is still looking at him calmly and evenly. He's composed, but his eyes suddenly proffer new emotions. Frustration and discontent.

"You don't need to apologize for anything, Marik," Ryou finally says. "You felt very strongly for my other half, and I couldn't expect you to be any less distraught over it."

He glances away, fixing his gaze out the little window in Marik's hotel room. "I'm just… disappointed."

"Disappointed?"

Truthfully, that wasn't the expression Marik was expecting. Anger and hurt, yes. But not disappointment.

"Yes. It took me a little while after you'd left to realize what really bothered me." Ryou speaks toward the rest of Marik's room, but no longer to him. "It wasn't your words. It wasn't your anger, or your malice."

And then, as though delivering a terrible blow, Ryou finally looks Marik in the eye.

"It was the fact that the whole time you were in my apartment, the whole time we spoke, and—even now—you won't look at me."

Marik frowns, entirely thrown. "What? What do you mean by that? I'm looking right at you—"

"No, you're really not," Ryou protests quietly. "You're looking at my hair, looking at my eyes, my hands and face. But you don't see me. You're looking at my body as if, at any moment, you expect Bakura to inhabit it again."

At that, Marik's heart stops for a moment. Ryou's words throw the very air out of his lungs. Because they're true. He never expected that, faced with such an accurate claim, the truth would squeeze the very breath out of him.

"It's maddening, really," Ryou continues, saddened. "It's as though you refuse to see me. As though you won't even acknowledge me."

Marik's jaw clenches. The words frustrate him as well, because he knows it's all true. But how can he look at somebody he doesn't know? How can he look into the face of the man he loved and find someone else staring back?

And so, making a decision, Marik looks at Ryou, this time without any preconceptions. As best as he can, Marik pushes lingering thoughts of Bakura out of his mind, and looks at Ryou with fresh eyes.

What he sees startles him.

A boy with long, snowy hair and eyes as brown as the richest earth. His face is narrow, but boyish and soft at the corners. His eyes are wide and at the moment, forlorn. It surprises Marik to find concern and kindness in the pale, ivory face of this boy. He realizes suddenly that whatever wrongs he's committed against Ryou, they're already forgiven. It's not in the nature of an angelic boy like him to hold grudges, and it's this thorough examination alone that leads Marik to understand the depth of Ryou's compassion.

"You're right," Marik finally says. "I was biased from the moment I saw you. I never really looked at you because I kept expecting to find_ him_. But, I'm trying now. I'm trying to see you for who you really are, and not for who you could've been."

Ryou's sadness clears a bit at hearing the words, but something still clouds his expression.

"I know it must be difficult for you, seeing me while you keep expecting to see _him._"

This whole time, Marik had only focused on himself, and his own feelings on the matter. Only now does he realize that Ryou must be suffering as well. He lost a part of himself—as much as the spirit had been part of Ryou—and now couldn't even face Marik without eliciting pain and grief from the latter. It was as though Marik wouldn't _allow_ Ryou to be himself, and only now does Marik understand the depth of Ryou's frustration.

Ryou drags him from his thoughts suddenly.

"There's something else you ought to know." He pauses, hesitating before he continues. "Sometimes, when you were with Bakura, I awoke from the back of his mind and got brief glimmers of you."

"What?" Marik asks in surprise. He would hate to think what Ryou might have accidently sighted. "What exactly did you see?"

"Nothing graphic, don't worry." Ryou smiles, as though reading Marik's mind. His smile fades. "Sometimes, I saw you sitting by the boat dock, and looking out at the water. Or you looking through your card deck and planning a gaming strategy. Once, I saw you standing by a bathroom mirror, and gently touching the scars on your back."

Marik feels a bit relieved at hearing these things, though he's still very surprised to find out that Ryou was sometimes present with him without his knowledge.

"I found out a lot about you that way," Ryou continues. "I found out what sorts of cards you like to use, and what sort of food you like to eat. I even found out things that you'd probably hate for me to know."

"Like what?" Marik asks curiously.

Ryou hesitates before speaking. "Like the amount of pain you must have endured to get the scars on your back. The reasons you're so bitter toward your Tombkeeper duties. The guilt you have, knowing that it was your darker self that killed your father. The blame you put on yourself, for having created that side to begin with."

Each statement crashes down upon Marik in rolling waves, and again, he's left breathless at realizing how well Ryou knows him, and how poorly Marik knows Ryou. His perceptiveness is astounding, really, and makes Marik feel all the worse for having treated Ryou so terribly earlier.

Then, suddenly, Ryou nears Marik, and stands very close.

"That's why it hurts me so much, Marik. I've come to know you so well, but I realized only the other day how little you know about me. How, since the moment you've met me, you've _refused_ to know me."

Marik doesn't know what to say, but the moment no longer needs words. Ryou reaches forward cautiously, and touches the side of Marik's face with tentative fingertips. Marik stands frozen, entirely bound by the uncertainty in Ryou's gentle face.

And suddenly, another realization crashes upon him.

Ryou is smitten.

Marik recognizes the hunger and desire in his eyes, because he's seen it there so many times already.

"Ryou?" Marik breathes, his heart wild and reckless in his chest.

But just as suddenly as Ryou's hand was on Marik's face, it's withdrawn, and Ryou turns away. He steps toward the door, and just before opening it, he pauses.

"You may have already guessed this much, but—Bakura wasn't the only one who cared for you."

And without a backward glance, he leaves.

Marik stands still for a long time, unable to stop his heavy, beating heart.

* * *

Marik knocks on the door in three quick thumps.

His hair and coat drips on the doormat as his heart beats like a nervous, caged animal in his chest. Here he is again, on Ryou's doorstep, a week after the first time he'd visited him. And just as before, he's thoroughly soaked, having gotten caught in a downpour.

The door opens.

"Marik!" Ryou looks surprised. He probably hadn't expected to see Marik again since his visit at the hotel. There's a rather uncertain, yet hopeful look in his eyes.

Marik smiles. "Can I come in?"

"Of course!" He steps back, letting Marik enter the narrow corridor. Despite Ryou's initial surprise, he falls into his tender habits quickly. "I told you not to go out in the rain. I'll get you a cup of hot tea to warm you up—if you'd like?"

Ryou's unwavering kindness is still a bit of a shock, but since Marik isn't looking for rough characteristics anymore, he's grateful, rather than hateful of it. In the past several days, he had realized that though he had thought of Ryou as a replacement at first, nothing could be further from the truth. Ryou was someone new and refreshing, and far from being a replacement.

"Yes. That would be great."

Marik follows Ryou into the warm kitchen, and removes his wet coat, placing it on the back of a chair. He breathes in deeply, catching the scent of fresh fruit on the table and a plate of cookies on the kitchen counter.

"Earl Grey?" Ryou asks, digging through the cupboards for teacups.

"No, I'll have the Londonderry. I think I'm—as you said—tired of the old favorite."

Ryou smiles and obliges, quickly warming the water and preparing the tea as Marik sits down at the table, unconsciously drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Though he outwardly looks calm, he's far from it. It had seemed like the conversation he'd had with Ryou at the hotel would be their last one. But Ryou's parting words had rattled Marik, to a degree he hadn't expected. It's all Marik can think of now, the _possibility_ of what Ryou had offered.

"Three cubes of sugar?" Ryou asks, placing the steaming mugs on the table, and sitting down opposite Marik. The welcoming kitchen and Ryou's tender hospitality warms Marik, far from irritating him as they had done last time. It's exactly what he'd hoped for when he'd thrown Ryou his drowning plea.

Marik simply nods, unsure how to start what he needs to say. So he begins with what feels natural.

"Ryou, our conversation the other day got me thinking. It seemed bizarre at first, that you saw me through Bakura's eyes sometimes. It was strange to think that you'd gotten to know me so well, while I didn't have a clue about you."

He pauses and takes a sip of the Londonderry tea while Ryou simply looks at him expectantly.

"But the other day I realized that the idea wasn't so strange at all. Actually… it was comforting. It made me glad that you already knew all the painful parts of me. All the ugly things I hide from the world—you've already seen. You understand me, maybe even better than I understand myself."

Ryou smiles at hearing these words, and looks down into his teacup.

"I was afraid that you would never see past my face," he says quietly. "I wanted to go to Egypt and search you out myself after I regained my body, but I knew how much you cared for Bakura, and how painful the sight of me would be."

The bittersweet words sting Marik a bit, because he knows that not too long ago, they would have been true. Before losing his nerve entirely, he stands from the table, and approaches Ryou.

Ryou looks surprised at the movement, and rises from the chair as well, to meet Marik face to face.

Then Marik surprises them both and tentatively reaches out to touch Ryou's cheek.

"It was painful at first," he says slowly. "I couldn't bear it that these eyes and this hair described a different person. But I think you helped me see past this."

Marik leans in, cupping Ryou's face, as the boy's eyes widen.

"If you give me some time, and another chance, I think I could care for you too."

And uncertainly, Marik presses his lips against Ryou's. The kiss is careful, and not at all like the reckless whirlwind of a first kiss he'd shared with Bakura. Marik's hands roam into Ryou's snowy hair and he feels Ryou tilt his head, deepen their kiss, and wrap his arms around his neck. Hungrily, Marik leans into Ryou, pushing him against the kitchen counter, and opening his mouth as Ryou's tongue tentatively reaches forward. Although their movements are languid, Marik is exhilarated; he feels as though he's being pulled out of a dark torrent of memories, pulled back to the present.

It goes no further than that. After only several minutes of kissing, Marik pulls away, but still holds Ryou by the waist. They stand in an embrace, Ryou's arms still clutched around Marik's neck, and Ryou leans his head on Marik's shoulder.

"Actually, I lied a bit when I said I only saw innocent things between you and my other half," Ryou reveals, his speech muffled by Marik's shirt.

"Oh, really?" Marik sounds simply amused, in far too high spirits to let the little lie bother him.

"Once, I saw you two kissing. And I felt it. I couldn't get my mind off of it since then, and I've always wanted to feel it again."

"Well, I hope it wasn't a letdown, if you've waited all this time."

Ryou simply smiles, and rather than answer in words, leans forward to kiss Marik.

It's a strange circumstance, Marik thinks. Anyone else might think that he was still kissing the same person he'd been kissing months ago. That he had simply picked up things where they had left off. But no. That would be completely wrong. Because though Marik is touching the same hair and feeling the same lips, Ryou's an entirely different person.

And that makes all the difference.

* * *

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think!


End file.
